


blood will run through the streets of rome today

by peefight (blairkitsch)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College AU, M/M, Scarification, dub con????, i guess. idk man, like... unhealthy self destructive toxic relationship kinda shit. you know. You Know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 23:47:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blairkitsch/pseuds/peefight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I hate you.</i>
</p><p><i>Well, you could always hate me</i> more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	blood will run through the streets of rome today

**Author's Note:**

> _"i saw the sourceless anger eating at him from inside_   
>  _no one around him to stem the rising tide_   
>  _evil from his head, down to his feet_   
>  _quinine's bitter, sugar's sweet"_

Wash find himself on his back, on the floor, disgusting linoleum with mud and gravel tracked in from Felix's boots and _food_ and it's awful but all Wash can manage on focusing is Felix hovering above him, pinning him down by the wrists and digging his nails in. Wash doesn't bother calling for help; that would forfeiting. That would be admitting failure. That would be admitting that he can't handle Felix because he _can_ , he _has_ , he's handling it right now, or, at least, he's about to. Felix grins wildly above him and Wash makes an effort not to look freaked out by it. Any moment now, he'll flip Felix and the he'll walk out the victor, for a change. He pulls a scowl in retaliation.

"Get the _fuck_ off of me," Wash growls, struggling helplessly under Felix's grip.

This earns him a laugh from Felix and his nails being driven deeper into Wash's skin. Trying to draw blood. "You look so cute like this," Felix taunts. "This really is your best angle. Though maybe a softer face would suit you..."

"You're a freak,"

Felix shrugs. No doubt he hears that half a dozen times a day. "Speak for yourself, _babe_." He grinds against Wash, once. "You're the one barely putting up a fight."

"I—" Wash halts long enough for Felix to give him one of the kisses that he particularly likes giving: invasive, rough, all teeth and no love as if there is something inside Wash that he wants _out_. He releases Wash's wrists and Wash kisses him back in just the same way, digging his fingers into Felix's hair and _pulling._ Felix gives Wash a few tugs back, communicating in a morse code of their own creation.

_I hate you._

_Well, you could always hate me_ more.

Wash is getting lightheaded. Felix, inhuman as always, could keep this up for another five minutes but Wash can barely think, there's Felix's teeth pulling at him and his hands and—

Suddenly Felix is gone and before Wash can gasp for air his hips are being shoved down harshly.

"Settle down there, tiger," Felix says. "Why didn't you tell me you wanted me so bad?"

Still catching his breath, Wash wouldn't dignify that with a response even if he could. His face is red, he can feel the heat radiating off of him, and he tries not to react when Felix runs a hand over his cock through his pants (obviously hard, it much be, it has to be, because it always ends like this because Wash can't _stop_ himself).

"Try" is the operative word here. Wash focuses on not gasping and draws a shaky breath in through his nose, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

Felix notices, of course he does, because he laughs again and Wash is really learning to hate that sound. He palms Wash's cock again, experimentally. "You're so _easy,_ Wash," Felix hums. "Why don't you just drop the pretenses and come to me like you want to, on your knees and _begging_ to be fucked."

"Fuck you," Wash growls (he hopes it's a growl and not something worse). "I hate you _so much_."

Felix pecks Wash on his stomach, mock-tender, where his shirt's been ridden up. "Hate you too, babe."

Wash tries, experimentally, to kick Felix loose. Maybe he'll get the upper hand this time, maybe he'll be the one to give Felix a black eye and a split lip and an unshakable sense of self-loathing. Maybe.

Not likely. Felix is stronger than him, as countless sparring matches turned fist fights have previously proven, and he pins Wash's legs down with ease and an irritated noise. 

"Why can't you _behave_?"Felix snarls.

" _Fuck you_ ," Wash hisses out again, because it's all he can manage. Being around Felix gives him a headache, makes it hard to concentrate. He thinks, fleetingly, of pulling Felix down and tearing out his throat with his teeth, the feeling of vulnerable skin in his mouth. He knows what Felix tastes like, and he knows he deserves it. Wounded dog, backed into a corner, fighting back.

Wash doesn't move. Felix sighs and pats his cheek lightly, patronizingly. "What am I to do with you, Wash? Someone's gotta teach you manners."

 _You fucking creep_ , Wash opens his mouth to say, but the words die in his throat as Felix pulls something out of his back pocket. A knife, which he flips open deftly to reveal a vibrant blood orange blade. Felix is going to kill him. Wash is sure of it.

Wash acts quickly, as quickly as he can, shoving Felix onto his back and scrambling to his feet before he can react. Of all people, he refuses to die at the hands of one Felix McScouty, and he needs _out_ , desperately. He doesn't make it far before Felix's hand is around his ankle and pulling, sending him collapsing onto the floor again, knocking the wind out of him and hitting his head on the linoleum hard enough to see stars, hard enough to make his ears ring.

When Wash recovers enough to take stock of his surroundings again, Felix is sitting on his chest, smiling like an animal bares its teeth. "You are _so_ much fun," he laughs, ghosting the tip of the blade against Wash's jaw. "Never change."

"Don't..." is all Wash manages to wheeze out, trying not to sound panicked, but he can hear the fear in his voice, and the way it lights up Felix's face makes him sick.

Felix makes a sympathetic noise, pulling a pout for a few seconds until breaking out into a grin again. "Poor, poor Wash," he hums, taking the knife to the collar of Wash's shirt. "Hit your head too hard?"

Felix's voice and the sound of tearing fabric and the sensation of hands on him feel far away and muddled and maybe he _had_ hit his head too hard. He groans at the thought. He doesn't have _time_ for a concussion.

Felix slaps him across the face suddenly, jolting him back to reality. " _Focus_ ," He orders. "Are you even listening to me?"

Wash laughs at that, a little weakly; he can't help himself. Wash might be self-destructive, but that's nothing compared to Felix's desperate need for attention. "Why would I care about what you have to say?" He says, blearily.

Felix quirks his mouth in an almost thoughtful way. "I'll show you why."

And then the knife is digging into him, dragging a line deep into his collarbone and cutting violently through the fog in Wash's head. He lets out a scream, despite himself, which earns him Felix's free hand over his mouth.

Felix shushes him. "Now, you know I like to hear you scream," He says with exaggerated patience, slowly making another gash perpendicular to the first. "But you know as well as I do that the walls in the dorm don't exactly contain sound," Another, Wash thinks, but the pain is all starting to blend together. "So you could at least _pretend_ to be sympathetic to my efforts."

Wash tries to gain purchase on Felix's hand with his teeth, but the pain and the fogginess make it too hard to focus appropriately. He drags his tongue against Felix's hand, the saltiness of it making his stomach churn, and it's a childish maneuver but it's all he's got in his arsenal.

Felix makes a face (small victories). "Don't be gross," he says.

 _Speak for yourself,_ Wash imagines saying, still trying forcefully to throw Felix off. Whatever he's doing, it's not _random,_ that's for damn sure, and Wash wants nothing less than whatever Felix has got planned for him. He's got ideas of what it might say. Panic bubbles in his chest as they flit through his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth through the pain, though the word _MINE_ pressing like a hot iron against his thoughts.

Felix scowls down at Wash, as if he'd heard his thoughts, and takes the opportunity to slap the gashes with an open palm, sending another shock of pain though Wash and eliciting a gasp from him.

"Sit _still_ ," Felix orders as he drags out a few more gashes and hums something Wash doesn't recognize, letting himself fade in and out of awareness ( _not good,_ not with blood loss and head trauma but he's having a hard time finding it in himself to care).

Felix moves quickly, almost seeming rehearsed. Wash imagines him detailing this exact moment over and over again in the margins of his notes, absolutely hatesick for Wash. In a minute or so, he finishes.

Felix is grinning proudly above him, down at his work. "Wonderful craftsmanship," he hums, delighted. " _F, E, L, I, X_..." He sing-songs the letters as he dances his fingers along each one. A wave of nausea rolls through Wash. "All mine. I can't wait for you to show it off."

Felix kisses the open wound with tenderness, tracks the blood up Wash's neck, jaw, cheek, landing half-heartedly on his lips. Wash doesn't react, can't find it in himself to react, can't even manage a response. Not a weakly venomous _fuck you_ or _go to hell,_ certainly not anything more creative than that. Everything seems to be alight with pain, his head especially, but it's all so overwhelming that it feels far away. He doesn't notice the absence of Felix until there's a shirt thrown on him (oh, right, his is ruined, ripped and no doubt decorated with blood) and Felix dictating, disinterested, somewhere above him.

"There's gauze in the desk drawer, babe," He says, with exaggerated sweetness. "Be good and make yourself clean and scarce within the next fifteen minutes, alright?"

And then Felix is gone, the heavy door slamming loudly behind him. The silence falls heavy upon Wash, a single tone ringing in his ears and filling the air around him, dissonant and enveloping. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about anything else.


End file.
